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August 25, 2011

Home in my own home my own bed
with my two dogs my one quiet son 
my own yard’s population of contented crickets
quietly singing in their humble way
the men across the street hammering on 
my neighbor’s house a child calling down the block
a squirrel chittering as they do for whatever 
reason they do it bluejays shouting back and forth.
All the familiar things of home
especially dear after a holiday away
even one that itself was filled
with warmth and light.

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